


Beautiful No Matter What

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea-centric, Established Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Haircuts, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Is A Good Boyfriend, Mycroft is Sweet, Mycroft is a Softie, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Poor Anthea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a disastrous afternoon babysitting the three-year-old terror known as Mycroft’s nephew Hamish, who somehow managed to get a hold of a pair of scissors and cut off a hunk of her hair, Anthea abandons their plans for the evening and heads home to curl up in front of the telly with takeaway and crisps and ice cream and her collection of action movies. But Mycroft decides to do what he can to assure her she is as lovely as ever to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful No Matter What

**Author's Note:**

> So a while back I put out requests for drabble prompts and I got a lovely anon prompt that went " _Mythea, Anthea has to get a short haircut and feels bad about it. Mycroft makes her feel pretty again. 3. Red_ " but I wanted to make a longer fic out of it, and I ended up with this. Hopefully my prompter doesn't mind _too_ much!

She stalked into Mycroft’s fortress, the hood of the cheap hooded pullover she’d bought pulled up over her head, her arms laden down with sacks of food. In one hand there was her takeaway order from Bayleaf Indian Takeaway, the order she had always gotten when she’d had a rough day at the office before Mycroft had convinced her to leave her flat in Whetstone and move in with him. There was mango chutney, torpedo king prawns, Shatkora chicken, mushroom bhaji and lime cashew rice. It probably wasn’t piping hot anymore but she didn’t care. That’s what microwaves were for. In the other hand was a bag with White Chocolate & Coconut ice cream from Mackie's of Scotland and Tyrell's Purple Sweet Potato, Beetroot, Golden Beetroot & Parsnip crisps in it. She was quite particular about her comfort foods. And all she wanted to do now was eat them, have a glass of wine and select an action film or two or ten and watch people pummel each other and blow things up.

She knew Mycroft wasn’t going to be there; he was with her Majesty’s staff going over a potential crisis that his brother might need to take care of. That was good. She could find some way to lessen the impact of this…disaster. She set everything in the kitchen and then went to the wine cellar to get the bottle of 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex that was there. She knew Mycroft wouldn’t mind if she had that, and she deserved a glass. It was _his_ nephew’s fault that she was in this mood, after all. She poured herself a glass of the white wine and took a sip before she reached up and pushed the hood back. Her hair…so much of it was gone now. It wasn’t _all_ gone, like pixie cut short, but it was just under chin length now.

She went to the drawer where the cutlery was and got a fork to begin to eat the takeaway, musing over things. Her mother had forced her to have short hair all through her childhood, when all she’d wanted was to have long hair and look elegant and graceful. Once she’d become a teenager she’d demanded the right do what she damn well pleased with her own hair and her mother had retaliated by cutting it almost all off. That had been when she’d left, gone off on her own to make her own way. She’d vowed never to let anyone make decisions for her from that point on, never to let anyone force her to do anything she didn’t want to do ever again. And she decided she would grow her hair out as long as she could as a symbol of that. She’d been quite proud of her hair. And now she’d had to have nearly eight inches hacked off because of that holy terror of a toddler, Hamish Holmes.

It was her own damn fault, she supposed. She should have been keeping a closer eye. She should have made sure he couldn’t get his hands on the scissors, or that he hadn’t gotten behind her, or that he hadn’t been able to cut off a chunk of her hair in the back. But she hadn’t, and he had, and as thanks for offering to babysit while Sherlock and Molly were off on a case she’d ended up having a flashback to one of the more horrific events of her past while the child who could potentially end up her nephew by marriage had laughed.

At least his parents had felt horrid. Sherlock had admonished his son and Molly had spoken sternly to him, and then Molly had taken her to an upscale salon since Anthea had said she didn’t want to show her face around her personal stylist and paid for the cut that she now had. It was a rather stylish a line bob; chin length in the front and shorter in the back. Molly had even offered to have it colored as well, if she wanted, or styled. She had felt horrible about her son’s actions, absolutely wretched. Anthea felt bad about that herself.

She lowered the hood and caught a glimpse of herself in the stainless steel refrigerator doors. It was distorted, of course, and that just made her feel worse. The shock of red hair was going to take some getting used to, she knew that, but she had decided if she was going to have to have short hair she might as well go whole hog: sleek instead of curly. New color. Sophisticated instead of sexy. She could play it off as trying to project a new image. It would just take time, even though personally she rather wished she could just put on a wig and be back to her old self.

She was nearly done with the prawns and debating whether to get a plate and mix together the chicken, the rice and the mushroom bhaji when she heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. That was unusual, she thought with a frown. She was supposed to have the home to herself for at least another three hours, since Her Majesty’s personal assistant was a self-important pompous windbag who loved to hear himself speak. She edged over to the drawer where she knew there was a hidden gun, but relaxed when she saw Mycroft enter the kitchen. He did not seem surprised by the change in her appearance, merely nodding. “Hamish’s doing?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” she said, setting down her fork to get the plate from the cabinet.

“I see you have not started your main course yet. I timed my arrival well, I see.”

She stopped and turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “What do you have up your sleeve, Mycroft?” she asked.

He moved closer to her. “I was thinking dinner for the both of us at Sketch, followed by, if you would like, an evening of dancing. Or, if you would prefer, drinks at Milk & Honey.” He moved in front of her then, settling his hands on her waist. “You would, however, have to change into something else. I was thinking the black Calvin Klein you wore to my brother’s wedding. Perhaps paired with the Christian Louboutin pumps, and the antique ruby and earring necklace I gave you for Christmas last year? That would pair beautifully with the new cut and color you have. Which, I must admit, looks very enticing on you.”

She smiled slightly as his hands slid around to the small of her back. “So you have a thing for gingers?” she asked.

“Just one in particular, it seems,” he said, leaning in more. “Though I would be willing to scrap those plans if you do not want to show your face in public, but I think it would be a waste. You are an exquisite woman and I would be very proud to have you on my arm. And, there is the added benefit that it would make any number of men in the vicinity jealous.”

She laughed and pressed herself against him. “And you do like to assert your dominance whenever you can,” she said, her voice low and somewhat seductive.

“Unless I’m allowing you to be dominant,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “Which might also make for an interesting evening, if you do not want to go out.”

She leaned in, her lips just in front of his. “I’ll let you show me off tonight, Mycroft,” she said. “If you’ll let me have my wicked way with you when we get home.”

He nodded just slightly. “That sounds like a fair arrangement,” he murmured. She kissed him then, and the passion with which he kissed her back showed her that he still found her intoxicatingly beautiful, regardless of the change in her appearance. Mycroft Holmes, problem solver. Somehow he always managed to know just what to do to make the situation better. That seemed to be his special skill, and today, she was never gladder for it.


End file.
